


Ain’t That a Kick in the Head

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [18]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Boot Worship, Dom Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Obedient Sub, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Service Submission, Sexual Content, Sub Tony, Sub Tony Stark, Submission, Subspace, Worship, boot kink, hints of humiliation kink, loving dom, messy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: Tony shook his head, smiling up at him, and skimmed his fingers up over Steve’s knee on his other side, leaned up and kissed at the base of his knee again, looking up at him. “Shhh, champ,” he murmured, kissed him there again.Written for Day Twenty (and Day Twenty-Five) of Kinktober: Feet/Boot Worship.





	Ain’t That a Kick in the Head

When he was in the driver’s seat, either because they’d agreed it’d be that way ahead of time or it had just turned out that way, Steve usually tried to lead, sort of take charge, try to make things as good for Tony as he could.  If Tony wanted to let himself sink down into that soft, sweet space that made him so soft and open (and vulnerable, when he looked up at Steve, eyes deep and soft and anxious and so full of feeling he couldn’t hide, not like that), then to help with that, to lead him, to make sure he didn’t go off course, go somewhere wrong, that would leave him shaking and tense and cold against Steve, brittle with the effort of not showing Steve any of the things that had gone wrong inside his head.  He hated to see that, tried so hard to keep him away from it, to keep him safe and smiling and happy, there, with Steve.  Or if Tony didn’t want that, if he just wanted to roll around with Steve for a while, maybe, make him feel good, skin pressed to skin, or they both needed each other hot and fast, then those things, too, push him into the wall and hoist him up how he liked it, until Tony squeezed his legs around his waist, laughing and curling his fingers against the back of his neck, touch him how he liked best in bed, nuzzle into his neck and stroke his sides and stomach until he was relaxed and sighing and pushing up into it, eyes sagging closed, gasping and curling up against him.

But, sometimes, sometimes he still let Tony lead, let him take charge, because, well, for one thing, he knew Tony liked it.  He liked to give him pleasure, especially when he was soft and sweet and under, as soft and sweet and under as he definitely was now, but really all the time.  Tony loved it, and Steve loved watching Tony love it, just watching him revel in it, his eyes lighting up, sparkling as Steve let himself enjoy what Tony did to him, the pleasure Tony coaxed out of him with hands and mouth and tongue, how warm and just … just _good_ Tony could make him feel, Tony smiling soft and secret and warm or beaming and bright down at him, as he watched Steve and just knew he was making him feel so good, so damn amazing, what felt like every time.  And it felt like every time Tony did this, when he did let Tony lead while Steve was in control, was setting the tone, especially when Tony was down, open and soft, he realized something new about him, something he might not have found out otherwise.

At the moment, Tony was kneeling between his legs, nuzzling his face against the fabric covering Steve’s inner thigh, his breath faintly warm and damp even through the material of his slacks, coming a little unevenly, as Steve stroked his hair, brushed it back from his face, let the pads of his fingers rub against his scalp, soothing, stroking, caressing, and Tony just gasped and shivered under him, even as his soft kisses made Steve shiver himself.  He reached down, after a few moments, and ran the backs of his fingers along Tony’s cheek, against his cheekbone, tilting his head up as he did. When Tony looked up at him, he looked breathless, eyes blown and starry, and Steve could tell he was already really far under.  “You doing okay?” Steve asked, and heard his voice come out of his mouth a soft, low rasp. “You still with me?”

“Doin’ fine, stud,” Tony murmured, lips quirking to one side a little in that wry, not-quite smile he had, that sometimes meant good things and sometimes meant really bad things. Steve raised a hand, pushed Tony’s already tousled hair back out of his eyes, rubbing his thumb gently over his temple.

“As long as you’re sure,” he said, just trying to let Tony know how he felt, how important it was to him that Tony was feeling all right, knew, especially when they were like this, and Tony was showering him in such generous pleasure, that if there was even the slightest, briefest moment where Tony didn’t feel okay, wasn’t really enjoying what he was doing for Steve, that he wanted him to stop—but at the same time, that he trusted Tony’s word, he wanted Tony to know that he would believe him, whatever he said, stop or go, good or bad, and act accordingly. Sometimes it was hard to believe Tony when he said what Steve could do to him, because Steve knew that—that sometimes, maybe, he wouldn’t say no.  Not if he thought Steve really wanted it.  Not if Tony thought he should be able to handle it.  But Steve thought that Tony would never be more open with him, or share more, if he didn’t feel that Steve truly trusted him, that he was worth that trust, so he tried to get that across, to make Tony feel that, every time they were in bed together.  He ruffled Tony’s hair a little more, leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the very top of his forehead, against his hairline.

“Steve,” Tony murmured, voice soft and low, little more than a whisper, as he bent his head, pressed a soft little kiss to Steve’s knee.  He stroked both hands up Steve’s thighs, rubbing gently, and Steve shuddered under him at the feel of his warm, clever hands, firm and hard with calluses, through his slacks, the contrast between those capable hands and scarred fingers and his perfectly manicured nails (at least when they weren’t covered with grease and black with it under the fingernails, Steve thought with a fond smile). But Tony surprised him when he bent to kiss down Steve’s leg, over his knee, down his thigh, got his hand under Steve’s knee and pushed it up so he could mouth soft and wet along the side of it, under Steve’s thigh, even against the soft, sensitive place at the underside of his knee through the fabric.  Steve felt himself gasp, his hand clenching a little in Tony’s hair before he could stop himself, control his fingers, his muscles.  Tony seemed to just smile a little, rubbing at Steve’s leg through his trousers, down his calf until he got to the top of Steve’s boot.

Steve expected him to start unlacing it, pull it off his foot—he’d come here on his bike, and well, he’d been eager, first to see Tony, to say hello to him, and things had just heated up fast, and they’d already talked about how Tony wanted this to go, and he’d stroked his hand back over Tony’s face, back into his hair, squeezed at the back of his neck, and Tony’s eyes had gone so beautifully unfocused as he panted, that Steve hadn’t been able to resist the urge to take him upstairs, laughing as they kept kissing on the way up, unable to stop for even a few minutes to see where they were going, it seemed, until finally they’d ended up here, on Tony’s bed in his room in the mansion, Tony’s tie and waistcoat going to lie messily over the chair, but Steve’s clothes pretty much all still on. The last thing he expected Tony to do was to bend his head even further, press his lips soft and fervent to the top of it, just beside the laces.  “Tony?” he breathed out, a surprised gasp.

Tony’s hand just slid down, cupped against the top of Steve’s boot, against the underside of his leg, and squeezed, firm and warm through the firmness of it, pressing his mouth there in another kiss, before pressing his cheek against it.  He opened his mouth, pressed wet kisses down the front of the laces, let his lips linger over the base of them, down over the side of the boot, the toe, still gripping, massaging, Steve’s ankle firmly through the boot.  He pressed his face against it, trailed wet kisses along the side.

“Tony,” Steve said, again, and it came out of him soft and breathless and questioning.  Tony raised his head slightly, looking up at him through his eyelashes, mouth open and wet.  “Isn’t it—I mean, do you want to—they’re dirty, I mean.”  He was sure of it, he wore them out and about around the city all the time, and he was pretty sure there wasn’t much dirtier than the city of New York except an out and out battlefield.  “I know you—I know you—you don’t like—”

Tony shook his head, smiling up at him, and skimmed his fingers up over Steve’s knee on his other side, leaned up and kissed at the base of his knee again, looking up at him. “Shhh, champ,” he murmured, kissed him there again.

“But,” Steve said, still uncertain.

“But nothing,” Tony told him, and pressed his lips to the top of Steve’s boot again.  “I want to do exactly what I’m doing.”

“You really want to?” Steve asked, catching his breath.  He just wanted to be certain, that was all.

“I really want to,” Tony said, and squeezed the back of Steve’s ankle again, firm, sure.

“Well, okay,” Steve breathed out, and then just sat there, trailing his fingers through Tony’s hair, feeling breathless and dizzy as Tony pressed kisses all up and down over his boot, his mouth open and wet, sucking kisses and trailing his tongue, his wet lips against the leather, like he was kissing Steve’s mouth.  He kept massaging at his ankle, his thigh, dragged his face over the wet spots he’d left, laved his tongue up over the laces.  His eyes were fluttering, and he looked just—blissed out, like he was, like he was _loving_ it, really, and Steve just—he couldn’t seem to even catch his breath, Tony looked so sexy, so breathtaking, so perfectly _indecent_ doing this.  God, he was even pressing himself down against the floor, still in his perfectly tailored slacks, pulling on Steve’s hold on his hair, light as it was, so he could get a better angle on Steve’s boot.  His _boot_.  Then kissing up over Steve’s ankle again, his leg, angling his leg up toward him, his mouth wet and open and already stung wet and red from the pressure, panting softly, hair falling into his eyes and lashes thick and dark over them.  He’d never dreamed Tony would do this, something like this, so willingly, and he looked so lovely, so sweet and sexy and perfect, so that Steve could feel it throbbing right in his dick.  He had to get his hand up, squeeze himself through his pants, even as he kept stroking Tony’s hair, muttered, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Tony moaned, pressed his mouth tighter against Steve’s boot, and Steve sucked in his breath.

“You look so sweet,” he told him, and it came out low and groaning and breathless as he palmed his own dick slowly through his pants.  “You look so sweet and gone and needy, and—and you’re loving this so much, Tony, you are.  Gosh, just, just kissing it like that.  Your mouth is so sweet.”

Tony groaned, rocked his mouth against the leather, over the front of it, leaving a long smear of saliva as he sucked and slobbered over it, over the laces.

“That’s it,” Steve murmured, breathless, palming his hand through Tony’s hair now, rocking his face gently against his boot, just a little bit, “get it wet, get it sloppy with your mouth, Tony, for me, won’t you?”  Tony just kept moaning at everything he said, letting even more saliva dribble out of his mouth, smear all over his face, drooling freely as he opened his mouth and sucked and licked.  Because Steve had told him to.  Because Steve had _told him to_.  Steve swallowed, and swallowed, feeling bright red in the face, hot all over.

Tony kept at that for a while, must have, but all Steve was aware of was the throbbing of his own dick under his hand, how Tony looked at his boot like that, face a little red with effort and smeared with wet spit, mouth open as he practically made love to Steve’s boot.  After a while, though, Tony lifted Steve’s foot with both hands, pressing soft kisses up and down over it, over the laces, and Steve couldn’t resist, tilted his foot up and ran the softer leather side of it over Tony’s cheek, down along his jaw. Tony moaned, groaning, and Steve slid the tip of it just under his chin, tilted his head up.  Tony let him, head tipping back, his eyes fluttering nearly half closed, baring his throat, sucking at his bottom lip even as saliva gleamed wetly on his lips, over the sides of his face, soaking his beard. His face was very flushed now.  He reached up, curled his hand over the top of Steve’s boot, and just held onto him.  “You’re so beautiful,” Steve said.  “You’re so good and—and so down, aren’t you?  You love it just like this, sweetheart.  Letting me do whatever I want to you.”

Tony sighed, and his fingers flexed on Steve’s boot, his lashes fluttered, and Steve dared to angle his boot just slightly, press the dirty sole against Tony’s neck, his Adam’s apple, pressing in just enough that Tony could feel it, the rough treads of the sole against his neck.  Tony groaned, pressed himself up against it, and Steve felt his own hand clench desperately on his own dick.  When he slid his boot up again to slide the leather along Tony’s other cheek, he could see the slight impression of the treads left on his neck in dirt, but Tony didn’t seem to mind, and, almost despite himself, the sight went straight to Steve’s cock, along with the way Tony was rubbing his face against the leather of his boot and pressing soft little kisses along it again, now on the other side.

“God, you’re a good boy,” Steve whispered, letting the tip of his boot gently push Tony back, caressing his face with the side of it, up and down, unable to get enough of the eager way Tony held it to his own face, kissing it worshipfully, almost, not moving his face away but instead pressing further into it.  Tony gave a choked little moan in response, his mouth moving slightly, lashes fluttering, turned his face to press it in even tighter against his boot.  “So, so good, Tony.”

Tony moaned, dragged his lips over the top of his boot, taking it in both his hands and pulling it down in front of him, and Steve let him, just watched, squeezing and jerking at his own cock, still through his slacks, as Tony pressed his mouth up and down the front, cradled it in his hands and pressed kisses over the tip, soft and sweet. He got lost in it, a little; he must have, because he had no idea how long it was before Tony pulled away from suckling wetly at the leather and looked up at him, moving as if he would press in between Steve’s legs, and before Steve even knew what he was doing, he had slid his boot down, pressed it ever so gently against Tony’s dark blue shirt, in the middle of his chest, lifting the other boot to slide it along Tony’s cheek, rubbing it back and forth, caressing him gently.

“Don’t you want to finish?” he heard himself say softly, not even quite sure where this was coming from, and hoping Tony would like it.  “You haven’t paid my other boot any attention yet, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Tony said, a low guttural sound between his wet, spit-slick, swollen lips, and Steve saw his hips roll, the way he flushed a deeper rose beneath his olive skin tone. “Y-yes.”  He swallowed, and then reached up with one hand, pressed Steve’s other boot closer into his cheek, his eyes sliding closed as he turned his face toward it, into it, pressing a soft kiss against it, too.

Steve’s cock was a throbbing ache of need between his legs, in his hand, as Tony licked and suckled and let himself drool and slobber all over this boot, too, licking along the side, at the tip, letting his tongue, his lips, turn hot and red and swollen, and rocking his hips softly, as if he couldn’t help it, the entire time. Eventually he raised one hand, laid it on the wet boot, and looked up at Steve, his eyebrows raising and scrunching up, as if in question, asking if he had done adequately, and Steve felt his cock throb almost painfully.

Tony almost resisted as Steve cupped a hand around the back of his head, then sobbed out an unsteady breath and went with shaking eagerness, letting Steve guide him in as he undid his fly with fumbling fingers and shoved down his underwear, pulling out his cock.  Tony put one hand on Steve’s still-clothed thigh, shoved the other one down to cup and rock against the bulge in his own slacks, and closed his hot, wet, raw, swollen mouth over the tip of Steve’s cock.  His eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a moan that was almost obscene as he did it, like it was more of a pleasure for him to have Steve’s cock on his tongue than the other way around.

It only took a few seconds for Steve to come in that hot, wet heat, and then he was hunching forward, desperately steadying himself with both hands on Tony’s head, panting as the hot pleasure crested through him irresistibly, washing away his thoughts, anything else except Tony’s hot, sucking mouth and the pleasure washing through his nerves, underneath every inch of his skin.

Tony held him in his mouth as he finished, sucking softly, wetly, devotedly, because of course he did, he always did, he was so good, so perfect, so wonderful, and eventually Steve came back to himself, hot and tingling all over, groaning, and pressed his face down into the soft, sweet smelling tangle of Tony’s thick, dark, soft hair, and caught his breath.  Once he did, he straightened up, slid his hand under Tony’s chin and eased him gently off his cock, amazed at how Tony kept his mouth open as Steve pushed him gently back, open and wet and panting, until Steve tilted it closed and leaned into kiss him.

Tony flushed, Steve could feel the warmth against his skin, but he rubbed his hand against his cheek and pressed the kiss to his lips gently, softly, then said, “Of course I’m going to kiss you after something like that, mister.  You’re the sweetest, most wonderful thing, fella.  Now let me do something for you.”

Tony’s lashes were damp, his breath was heaving in his throat, and he looked up at Steve with wide-eyed, panting, dizzy intensity, but he was biting his bottom lip, didn’t seem to know how to respond, so Steve just set his boots on the floor, reached down, got his hands under Tony, and hauled him up into his lap, sliding one hand roughly down his pants, over his lush, curved rear, to palm at the silky panties Tony wore, while he tugged his shirt out of his pants, opened his belt and his fly with the other one, rubbed his thumb down over Tony's damp, hot, fully hard cock and balls through the silky fabric.  Tony moaned, his head falling back, panting.

“Color?” Steve asked, while he leaned in and licked a stripe down Tony’s neck, licking up his own dirt as he went.

“G-g-uh,” Tony panted. “Green.”

“Thank you,” Steve told him, sincerely, and curved his hand gently around Tony’s dick, slipping his thumb into his panties to rub at the sensitive slit, tugging his dick up until the head of it was just peeking out, making it easier.  He half expected it to take quite a while, massaging Tony’s rear, stroking his back, holding him close and stroking, tugging, teasing at his cock until he came, but Tony came almost at once, hot come splashing wet over Steve’s hand as Tony shuddered and shook and moaned and went limp in Steve’s arms.

Steve just held him, pressing soft kisses over his face, his jaw, his neck, telling him how good he was, how good and how sweet and how perfect and how beautiful, sliding his hand up under his shirt and really rubbing at his back, until Tony stirred from where he was slumped over Steve’s shoulder, panting, raised his head and rubbed a hand over his face.

“God,” he mumbled, “I feel filthy,” and grinned at Steve.

“Just a little dirtied up,” Steve said, grinning back.  “Wouldn’t go as far as filthy.  Christ, Tony, you’re amazing.”

“If you say so,” Tony said, sounding slow and floaty and sweetly, fondly amused.  “Are you going to clean me up?”

“That’s my job,” Steve said again, and leaned forward, pressed another kiss onto Tony’s soft, swollen lips.  He grinned again as he pulled away, murmured, “I’ve never had a better spit-shine,” and Tony blushed, beautifully, perfectly.

“Steve,” he said, and laughed, then, mumbling, “You didn’t mind?  That was okay?”

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve said, feeling his heart throb with tenderness in his chest, “are you joking?  It was _incredible_.”

“Oh, good,” Tony said, and smiled, soft and sweet and pleased.  “That’s good.”

“So good,” Steve said, fervently, and reached up to caress his cheek again, smiling himself, fondly, as Tony turned his head to rub his (slightly raw, roughened, probably tender) cheek against his palm.  He had never expected that.  See? 

He learned so much about Tony, every time.

“I’m going to give you a damn thorough rub-down in the bath,” Steve murmured, “but only after I push you down to this bed and make sure I take good care of every bit of you, Mr. Stark.”

“I might not …” Tony started, looking a little alarmed despite the way the words slurred, soft and thick in his mouth.

“Come, I know,” Steve said. “I don’t expect that.  I just want to kiss,” he kissed Tony’s shoulder through his shirt, “and caress,” he gave Tony a long, thorough caressing rub along his sides through the fabric, “every inch of you.”

“Mmmm,” Tony said, and his head seemed loose on his neck, lolling until Steve got his hand up to support it, even as he shifted him, pushed him down on the bed and leaned down over him, kissing his face, over his goatee, down his throat, even as he got his hands on Tony’s shirt and started unbuttoning it.  His lashes were fluttering as Steve ran his thumbs over his stomach, up over and around his navel.  “What—whatever you say, boss.”

“That’s it,” Steve murmured, and sucked softly on the pulse point at the base of Tony’s throat where it fluttered and jumped.  He felt very aware that he still had his boots on, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed.  “You took good care of me.  Now I’m going to take such good care of you.”


End file.
